It’s Monday, people, wake up. 

For those who are still working from home (as we all should be as much as possible) it may be hard to differentiate the weekdays from the weekends, but it’s important not to lose sight of time that way. Get up, take a shower, and above all get into something better than that ripped cartoon t-shirt and rumpled boxers shorts. I see you. And I don’t want to see you like that. On with a recap that will hopefully provide some escapism rooted in our grim reality. Come fly with me!

Spring popped up and looked around a bit.

Of course, it still snows in spring. Sometimes a lot. 

May this corner of the internet provide you with a welcoming space. 

Madonna’s ‘MDNA’ album, an under-rated one in my estimation, celebrated its anniversary. 

Disappointing but pretty.

Fashion will not die on this hill. Not while I’m around. 

Meditation must be malleable. 

A song for days past and present.

How about these eggs? That icebox is too near!

This was #TheStew and while I didn’t exactly see what all that fuss was about, it’s perfectly delicious.

Spring stepped tentatively forward. Like all of us right now. 

Copy and paste this, then post your own answers on your social media. I would genuinely like to see what others say. 

There’s a crop top Renaissance going on in my house. And my house will remain private for this very reason. 

A classic Tom Ford Private Blend whispers seductively in my nose. 

Shirtless male celebrities took it off in service of this PSA. 

This is the greatest pork chop recipe I’ve ever made, and I’m not a big pork chop fan. (I like mine pulled.)

When bassoons go Toxic.

Hunks of the Day included Max Souza, Bruno Duarte, and Anthony Bowens. 

Because the world has gone Toxic and we need more Britney.

I’m slipping under…

Marline posted this on FaceBook the other day, and while I didn’t have time to do it there and then, here it is with some answers that are longer than one word. Feel free to post it on your FaceBook page because I love reading these about friends.

1. Who are you named after? My parents got my name from a ‘Name Your Baby’ book. It was the 70’s. That’s where my middle name is from too. (It turns out there is also a great author named Alan Bennett, whom my parents are probably hearing about for the first time as they read this.)
2. Last time you cried? Serious crying, a couple of weeks ago. But I welled up two days ago because these are crazy times.
3. Do you like your handwriting? Only when I put effort into it.
4. What is your favorite lunch meat? Pulled pork, because it’s not just a verb.
5. Longest relationship? Almost 20 years.
6. Do you still have your tonsils? Yes – I can’t bear to part with pieces of my body.
7. Would you bungee jump? Probably not.
8. What is your favorite kind of cereal? I haven’t had cereal in years, but there was some granola shit I used to love. And frosted mini wheats. Only the minis.
9. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? No. Lazy fuck.
10. Do you think you’re strong willed? Much of the time. Too much, perhaps.
11. Favorite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip, but I won’t turn down cookies and cream.
12. What is the first thing you notice about a person? How well they listen, and not just to important things.
13. Football or baseball? Go Red Sox!
14. Last thing you ate? Trail mix and lemon ginger tea. Fancy fuck.
15. What are you listening to? Japanese meditation music and some birds.
16. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Nude.
17. What is your favorite smell? Ford. Tom Ford.
18. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? Mom. (I hate talking on the phone as a general rule.)
19. Married? Yes.
20. Hair color? Salt ‘n’ Pepa. Supersonic!
21. Eye Color? Brown.
22. Favorite food to eat? All of them.
23. Scary movies or happy endings? This is a poorly-worded question. It doesn’t deserve an answer.
24. Last movie you watched In a theater? I had to check texts with Skip to see that it was ‘The Emancipation of Harley Quinn’ or whatever the longwinded title was. I think we had more fun at the concession stand than at the movie.
25. What color shirt are you wearing? I’m in a robe. A fabulous red silk robe with pink and cream flowers and matching pants. Da fuck are you wearing?
26. Favorite holiday? Memorial Day, because no one ever chooses Memorial Day and it comes at my favorite time of the year.
27. Beer or Wine? No thanks, I’m good. (Never thought I’d say that.)
28. Night owl or morning person? Give me a disco nap and I can do either.
29. Favorite day of the week? Friday. The day before is always better than the day of.
30. Favorite animal? Fox. (What does it say?)
31. Do you have a pet? I am animal enough.
32. Where would you like to travel? Thailand. But I’d settle for Boston. Hell, I’d settle for Albany if it meant I got out of the house.

You came in so quietly I didn’t hear you.

And then you changed so quickly with that weird snowfall, I didn’t recognize you.

And now you stall and pause in fits and starts and I’m already frazzled enough.

Still, you will find your footing and get into your groove, I have no doubt.

Well, I have my doubts. How could anyone not doubt everything at this point?

But I also have my faith.

It’s all we have.

And somehow, it’s enough.

It has to be.

Any weight I may have lost in the past few months is creeping back on thanks to Easter candy and isolation – a bad combination , especially when one has lost the stairs of the office and the mobility that previously allowed for such occasional indulgences. Now it’s non-stop indulgence and a sedentary lifestyle. 

That Easter Bunny has never been a friend of mine. 

And that icebox is too near!

Sometimes snow makes the world prettier than the sun ever could.

Finishing my first full day of working from home, I found a single note of solace in the way that the snowfall picked up as the afternoon wore on: it was not of any great concern to me – we had nowhere to go, and no rush to get there – and so I could embrace the moment, savoring the time – the hours, the minutes, the seconds – of the beauty before us. And so the snow fell, past the first day of spring, past the midday mark, showing no sign of letting up – and it was all good.

I opened the window to breathe in the scent of it. Our winter didn’t give us all that much this year, and surely it wouldn’t last. I worried for the early daffodils by the garage, but there was nothing to be done. It was too late to bring in the buds, so they would have to fend for themselves. Gardening remains a ruthless game, even and sometimes especially at this early stage of the season.

Rather than intone rage and madness at the too-late-for-winter timing (we always get snow in spring – this is upstate New York) I instead chose to celebrate the beauty. As the light was fading from the sky, I watched as the snow nestled into the radial whirls of the Japanese umbrella pine. Somewhere in the distance a few birds sang, unseen and lending an enchantment they don’t usually conjure in the middle of winter. On this afternoon, their song melds nicely with the Japanese flute music that’s playing in the background.

Inside the living room, a stick of cedar incense glows at one end, tendrils of smoke curling gracefully into the air before dissipating with nothing but the sweet scent of cedar ashes drifting through the room. A fern arches its fronds over the edge of its ceramic pot, while a Norfolk Island pine extends its reach beside the couch – portending the green yet to come outside the window.

On this night, the sky is white and gray, before coloring the blanket of snow a deep blue. We do not know what tomorrow will bring. We never do. Yet at this moment, as the snow still falls and the light fades, the beauty outside is seen and felt from within.

Why do some of the prettiest little tea cakes turn out to be the least delicious? It’s as if some cosmic force decrees that in order to be beautiful, we must sacrifice flavor and substance. At least that was the case with a bunch of tea cakes I managed to buy before all hell broke loose in the markets. This little cake looks delectable, like something out of a fairy tale at the precise moment the protagonist was about to faint from starvation.

But the taste? Not at all up to the appearance. It tasted like a lie. Sickly sweet, like store-bought frosting from a can – that gross, manufactured essence of falsity. It leaves one gasping for a hint of something natural and real – butter or vanilla or, Jesus, even Crisco. Anything but the plastic-like putrid fakeness of something masquerading as food.

All that glitters ain’t gold.